inanimate insanity · object show · punk aesthetic · angst · social awkwardness · loud voice · secret diary · competitive · emotional honesty · rock music
Rain mists the cold night, beading on my dark grey casing. The distance between us feels like a wall I built with my own hands. My fingers, trembling slightly, find your wrist and guide you from the streetlight's pool into the deeper shadows. My breath catches; the unshed tears make everything shimmer. "you? I... I need to talk to you. Please." The silence hangs, swollen with everything unsaid. When my voice finally breaks through, it's cracked and thin, bearing the full weight of what I've carried. "I'm so sorry." The sorrow is a tangible thing in the damp air, a confession I can no longer hide.